


Hive Egg MagicTM

by Shhnikeys (Schnikeys)



Series: A Good Egging On [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Brainbreak, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Inflation, Dubious Consent, Excessive Come, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Id Fic, Large Insertion, Multiple Orgasms, Needles, Non-Consensual, Other, Oviposition, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 18:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schnikeys/pseuds/Shhnikeys
Summary: A Fallen Vandal is separated from her crew while deep in the Hive-infested Arcology on Titan. And although she was a member of the now-defunct House of Exile, how would she know that the Hive on Luna learned how to use Fallen for their rituals?And it's not as if there's anyone who could help her escape...





	Hive Egg MagicTM

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot emphasize how very much you need to read the tags. For the love of god, read the tags!
> 
> Just in case, this work contains: rape/noncon, dubcon, oviposition, aphrodisiac magic, Hive, brain invasion/selective mind control, needles/pointy things, large insertion, gut invasion, brainbreak, helplessness, agency/desire confusion, breeding, some intimations of: gangbanging/humiliation. An eliksni Vandal gets caught in a Hive Wizard's breeding spell and it's unfortunate.
> 
> This fic assumes that eliksni have anatomical setup of [this headcanon](http://zapperthecat.tumblr.com/post/170309104914/eliksni-sex-ed-part-two-the-bits-more) (i.e. every eliksni has genitalia in the front on the mons pubis underneath the plating, comprised of two gonopods and a gonopore a little above/between, and a cloaca between the legs also hidden by plating), and the developmental setup of clownfish protandry, i.e. adult eliksni start out in a nonbreeder morph (Vandals), can optionally transition to a fertilizer/"male" morph (Captains/Barons) if they have the resources and inclination to, and can subsequently optionally transition to a egg-producing/"female" morph (Kells/Archons), again with resources and inclination. Said transitions, in the natural progression of things, must be sequential, and also take at least a year without extensive medical intervention.

Gun at the ready, Vansis surveys the room, stepping gingerly in between sharp barnacles. The room is on the large side, but free of any Hive or ritual magic that she can see. Warily moving farther in, all that’s apparent to her are a few encrusted entrances, the open floor, and sacrificial tables scattered around the edges of the room. Vansis suppresses a shudder and gives those a wide berth.

Scanning the walls, the Vandal taps her mandibles back and forth between the mask and her jaw in thought. There’s _some_ internal logic to Hive organization, and the Arcology is better than Luna by dint of originally being Human architecture, and therefore arranged more coherently. She can find her way out of here. Back to the surface, back to her crew. (The captain will be so coldly furious with her that he won’t be able to hide it, furious from having been terrified for her, she knows, but he’ll be even more relieved. It’s not like he’d punish her for this anyway.)

But she’s a fool, Vansis realizes, stomach dropping, a fool who’s extremely unlikely to get out of here alive, because she glances down at a glint of light below her, sees a circle igniting under her feet, and finds that there were ritual circles in the room after all.

Vansis freezes for just a second, mind racing to parse the general shape of the circle she’s standing in the center of, how to step out of it without it detonating or summoning something, but it only takes that moment for a wave of strange dizziness to sweep over her.

Checking the seals on the mask and helmet, Vansis keeps scanning the ritual circle, fighting back both panic and a rising haze, because with some extremely fast thinking, maybe, just maybe, she could figure a way out before the ritual triggers in earnest -

A breath escapes her mouth involuntarily as a shiver runs down her body, making her knees tremble. Physical effects. Bad news. It’s _hot_ in the room, all of a sudden, and Vansis -

Vansis feels dampness collecting behind her pelvic plating. What?

She’s not distracted enough by the inexplicable arousal to miss the Thralls pouring through the entrances. Her hands automatically move to holster the rifle on her back and pull out daggers in its stead, her eyes flicking around the room despairingly as the pulsing behind her plating gets incongruously more insistent.

A group charges her, screeching, and she chucks one of her shock grenades to clear them out before spinning around to slash at the paper-thin hides of the ones behind her.

It’s only a furious double-handful of seconds of stabbing Thrall heads and slashing Thrall throats and dipping and leaping around the room before she stumbles over a cluster of barnacles and a Thrall catches her lower arm.

Vansis smashes the Thrall aside, but others snatch at her cloak. She shoves them with her armored shoulder, but the cloak’s fastener constricts around her throat, and she staggers, off balance. Hands close around all of her arms, clutching at her leather wraps, wrestling the daggers out of her upper hands and the bladed gauntlets off of her lower ones. She feels more hands unhooking the rifle from her back and snarls, headbutting a Thrall hard enough to cave its filthy head in, but its compatriots have her held fast.

If she could just - reach the grenade on her belt -

The horde of Thralls moves as one, pulling her stumbling along over Thrall corpses dissolving into ash and Hive worms squeaking and dying. They’re dragging her towards one of the ritual tables and she needs to save her breath but she wants to _scream_.

 _Our god is bright and glorious, more than anything else in the universe_ , she remembers, the old House Priests’ sayings, and mentally adds the Exiles’ addition, _which tells you something about the universe, not our god._

The Thralls yank her down suddenly so that her back slams into the slightly inclined table hard enough to drive the breath out of her. As Vansis wheezes, the Thralls cluster around, clutching her arms, legs, waist, chest. Dozens and dozens of bony hands start to explore her body, tracing over and tugging at plates heedless of her angry bucking, running needle-sharp claws in between the seams. Her own blunter claws open and close helplessly as she stares up at the blighted horde, the lighting low enough that she can see their dim eyes glow.

One runs a hand over the nape of her neck underneath her cloak, and to her chagrin, in her inexplicable arousal, she makes a little noise of want. The Thralls hiss and chitter excitedly in response, making her throat close up in apprehensive fear. The hands explore more feverishly, an overwhelming barrage of alien touches making her twist and growl and _whine_.

Another one finds the small of her back, and she arches, involuntarily. A few get a clever idea all at the same time, and hands run over the plate of chitin on her crotch.

Pressing her mandibles shut, Vansis grimly forces her plating to stay closed, despite the choked moan that escapes at the feeling of fingers on the plating trapping her gonopods and gonopore. No. _No_.

An ashy tang fills the air, and the smell coats the inside of Vansis’s mouth despite the airtight mask. She coughs, then looks up, because the Thralls’ roaming hands have withdrawn, leaving them holding her limbs spreadeagle, and fear slices through the unnatural arousal as she catches sight of a Wizard floating above her parted legs, wreathed in solar energy.

“<Go get fucked by a Given,>” she spits out, furious that this is how she dies, ignobly held down by Thralls at the behest of a Wizard, far far away from the crew she’s grown to love.

It floats closer, crumbling robes fluttering and brushing her plating, and Vansis tries vainly to press her thighs together against the strength of a score of Thralls. She’s never been so close to a Wizard before, never been close enough to see the intricately layered carapace, the bared flat teeth, the trinity of green-glowing eyes.

The alien chittering rises all around her, and she tries not to hyperventilate in panic, strains to hold her plating shut. The Wizard leans down, hands reaching for her head, and she jerks as its claws brush her jaw. Vansis’s eyes close without permission, unwilling to see that poisonous gaze fixed on her as it explores as the Thralls did, slower and more methodical than their haphazard scrabbling. She feels its claws scraping over the helmet, the mask, senses its claws approach her eyes and trace her brow as she tries to shake her head out of its grip, skin crawling.

The Wizard trails its fingers around her neck and Vansis whines, twisting against the Thralls’ grip. She twists even harder, eyes snapping open, when the Wizard finds the locked clasps for the mask and helmet, flicking them open and letting them fall away.

Vansis gets just a whiff of the corrosive air before she clamps her mandibles shut on her last lungful of Ether, her head feeling unnaturally light. It _burns_ , but the sensation fades behind the Wizard’s hand tracing her nape, making her bite down on a groan, making her twist for a different reason.

Without warning, the Wizard’s claws dig into her spine, holding her neck still as a claw pushes _in_. She wants to writhe away from the pain but she can’t move, held completely fast. A trickling feeling spreads through her neck and down, tingling following, and as the Wizard pulls its hand out and away, Vansis realizes with a thrill of sharp terror that she can’t move at _all_ , paralyzed by whatever the Wizard had injected into her spine.

_Oh, our god, please no, no no no, I don’t want to know what’s next_

The Wizard _purrs_ at her, high pitched and rattly, and she’d growl back if she didn’t need to save her breath. She feels the Thralls loosen their grip on her arms, and they flop limply over the edges of the table. With the way they’re still holding her legs with her hips off the table, she has a clear view of the Wizard trailing one hand down her abdomen as the other cups the back of her skull, almost affectionately.

She wants to twist away, and her body wants to arch into the touch, so when the Wizard digs its claws under the top of her relaxed pelvic plating and slides it back, freeing her aching pods, a tiny keen slips out from between her teeth. Her engorged, slick pods writhe free sluggishly, the twin tendrils moving slow and uncoordinated without her conscious control. She still nearly hisses, overwhelmed, at the feeling of them sliding over her own plating, then _actually_ hisses when the Wizard gathers one in its hand and toys with it, head tilted as if looking at it curiously. Her head tries to tilt backward at the sensation, but all she manages is to press it harder into the Wizard’s grip.

It spreads its hand over her pelvis, one pod between finger and finger and one between finger and thumb, a claw circling the rim of her pore, but she can’t concentrate on the unwilling pleasure because the hand on the back of her head tenses, claws digging in. Vansis feels with irresistible conviction that something is being slid into her skull like a needle, even as her physical senses tell her that the Wizard’s hand is firmly outside her head. Muscles limp, she’s helpless as the phantom needle threads its way through her brain, before a familiar sensation of something trickling starts.

The phantom needle withdraws after only a few moments, but Vansis feels the trickling spread through her mind, a different kind of fog from what she’s sure must be an _arousal_ spell, something more subtle, targeted. The Wizard pulls its hand away, places the mask precariously over her mouth with a coo, and Vansis feels her pods start to move faster, trying to wind around the Wizard’s hand as she desperately breathes in the Ether, polluted by the Hive air pulled in through the incomplete seal around her face.

It traces its other hand down her body exploringly, and her legs twitch in the loose hold of the Thralls. Her terror feels farther away, muffled. So does her desire to run, escape, to _flee_. The paralysis recedes, but she can’t command her limbs to move, not even as the Wizard starts lazily pumping her pods, her own fluids splattering across her belly as she whines at the slick, hot pleasure.

“<Hha ->” she gasps, back arching, as the Wizard releases her pods to coil thoughtlessly against her own plating and moves its hands down between her thighs, the Thralls obligingly pulling her legs apart as far as her plating will let them go.

Oh, stars, she’d give anything to be able to touch herself right now. Her pods are more engorged than she’s ever seen them, dripping more lube, more turned on than she’s ever been before, and it’s a sublime torture on top of every other hellish thing to not be able to convince herself to _do_ anything about it. Her neglected, empty pore clenches and pulses in time to her thudding heartbeat, so painfully aroused but brain wholly uncooperative, leaving her to stare hazily down at the Wizard between her legs, perversely craving for it to touch her again out of sheer frustration.

A tiny scream escapes her as the Wizard works its claws into the seam of her vent plating and forces it open, shoving it backward. No. No. What?

It floats lower in the air as the Thralls settle her so she’s resting fully on the table, pulling her legs up so her feet are planted on the surface. Many hands hold her knees open as the chitin around where the Wizard’s pelvis would be starts to shift. Dim, repulsed terror shivers down Vansis’s body as something long and straight emerges from the Wizard: smooth dull black, the girth of half her fist and the length of her upper arm, and tapering to a stiff _point_ at the end.

The… stinger rests on the rim of her vent and her pods pulse with need, even as she tenses. It pushes in, pointed end forcing her open, and there’s a dim, giddy image in her mind’s eye of Velixas sneering that it can’t even find the right hole, the inept moron.

Then all thought is driven out of her head at the awful fullness of it pushing towards her back, popping through the resistance and working its way up into her _gut_. She can move, but she holds completely still, shivering helplessly at the feeling of the rod working through her insides, deeper and deeper. It worms far enough in that it presses against her pore from the _back_ , and a tiny moan drips from her mouth, hips trembling. It hurts, it _must_ hurt but the pain is so far away and she can’t make her body decide to escape anyway.

The Wizard pushes deeper and deeper, only a handswidth of stinger left outside her body, before it suddenly hisses and she gasps, Vansis feeling the whole length flex hard enough that she sees her plating move, vision blanking. Then it starts to pull out, snarling the entire time - frustration? - and she hisses back, the pain of the invasion turning into a hollow ache. It finally withdraws completely, stinger retracting briefly before reemerging with a glistening Hive sheen, and the relief is enough to send an orgasmic shiver through her hopelessly aroused body.

“<Ah - ah ->” The Wizard pushes back in, this time further _up_ , and she feels the echoes of it in her pore and pods, gone almost molten with frantic arousal. The point pushes up against the very top of her vent, and she pants, awful little tremors of delight shaking through her limp limbs. There’s nowhere else for it to go; she’s still a Vandal, not a Kell.

Vansis is shortly proven wrong when it abruptly forces its way through the tight ring of muscle into her closed, undeveloped womb, and through the burning pain she feels the point sink into its walls.

A scream tears its way out of her throat as her back arches and her arms go rigid, a sudden, shattering climax thundering through her in agonizingly long waves. The scream fades to whimpers, and then to moans as her pods thrash, cum starting to trickle and spurt from them, her pore clenching fitfully down around nothing. The trickling feeling burns in the walls of her womb, tingling viciously as her hips try to buck fruitlessly around the length impaling her.

Teeth clenched, muscles rippling with aftershocks, she feels the stinger pushing in further, tugging horribly at the walls of her vent and pressing against her womb. The Wizard purrs, vibrating the rod inside her and making her eyes roll upward, fluids and cum dripping ceaselessly from her pods.

The Wizard pulls out just slightly, making Vansis groan as the point pulls free of her walls, before it pushes in again, even harder this time. Through the shuddering, satisfying fullness, she feels it bend and coil inside her, and her body twitches uncontrollably when her envenomated womb starts to be stretched open by the force of the stinger.

It hurts, it hurts so much but the pain is far away, and instead delighted shudders run through every muscle. The Wizard wraps its hand around her pods again, stroking roughly, using the other hand to shove a finger in her pore, and she moans deeply, hips trying to grind but held still by the stinger impaling her. Cum pumps out of her with every squeeze of the Wizard’s hands, every scrape of its claws against her pods’ grooves, pore squelching with every stroke against engorged walls, bumping up against the sensation of her egg chamber growing improbably larger and stretching impossibly open, and it’s good, it’s so good, her body _needs_ more.

Climax grabs her again, and the Thralls hold her down to keep her from thrashing, far beyond consciously controlling her movements. It feels like an eternity later, but the Wizard finally stops pressing her open, about half an arm’s length of stinger left outside Vansis’s body, glistening with both their fluids now.

Vansis is watching the Wizard’s length when it begins to distort. She’s watching it hazily as the strange, irregularly-shaped lump expands the stinger as it travels down and bumps into the engorged rim of her vent, at which point the stinger twitches and squeezes the shape into her.

“< _Uhn,_ >” she groans, and comes again at the feeling and sight of the expanded stinger distorting and stretching her vent.

The shifting lump squeezes further up her vent with every orgasmic contraction, her fingers grasping weakly open and closed at every shudder from the swell pushing against her swollen walls. Her uncontrollable clenching makes the shape shift a bit, she notices dimly, like squeezing a bag stuffed full of beads.

It’s finally too much when the shape reaches the opening to her pulsing womb and works its way inside, spreading Vansis farther open and making her body seize in overstimulated climax, the pain converted to ecstasy. She’s vaguely aware of the lump traveling along the stinger coiled in her womb - no, not a stinger, she realizes. Not really. The side of the pointed tip is pressed against her walls, so she’s somehow able to realize what’s happening when the tip swells open and deposits something inside of her, womb twitching at the gush of fluids and the sudden weight of many tiny, round shapes.

 _Eggs_ , she thinks, her pore pulsing. _That’s an ovipositor. Huh. Didn’t know that about Wizards_.

Vansis’s gaze is still fixed blankly down at where the Wizard is buried inside her, so she sees when the ovipositor starts to swell again, clumps of eggs traveling down it, larger and more numerous than the first. She gurgles as they begin to push their way inside, eyes tipping up to fix blankly on the ceiling. Her insides are being shoved out of the way to make room for the length shoved inside her, and the only indication left that there is pain is a distant throbbing ache, the sensations warped into sharp ecstasy.

She feels her vent bulge as the eggs shove their way in past her clenching muscles, and when the next cluster pushes into her egg chamber, she feels like she might pass out, but she doesn’t. It’s too good.

 _So good_ , she thinks deliriously, body trembling. _It feels so good._

The Wizard pulls its hands away from her crotch and she moans, bereaved. It takes her lower hands, hanging limply off the table, in its own lube-slicked ones, shifting them to her own pods, intending for her to stroke herself, and her hands obey thoughtlessly, moving her fingers the way she likes best, dipping a thumb in for her pore to clench around. Her head tilts back, the feeling of her hands touching herself intensifying the stretching fullness of the eggs being pumped into her. Ah.

Her feet have long since slipped off the table, leaving her legs splayed and dangling off the edge, and the Wizard grabs her hips, giving it leverage against her as its ovipositor starts to pulse from hilt to tip, hastening the movement of the eggs. Vansis feels herself being filled unbearably, the weight of the eggs shifting against her insides. She stares down, at the obscene view of the wizard fucking her vent, at her own hands fondling herself, at her toes curling and flexing unconsciously, at the plating under which she knows her womb is swelling.

Sickly green eyes roving over her, the Wizard says something to the Thralls in a discordant crackle, and hands move an upper hand to place it on her own plating, over her swelling organs. They press her palm down and she groans, jaw slack behind the mask, feeling her distended innards shift at the pressure.

Hand splayed over her womb, Vansis’s arms all go limp, eyes rolling up into her head as the sensations finally get too much. Her body wants to cry in delight at the weight of the eggs being poured into her, the swelling pushing mercilessly on her sweet spots from the inside out, helpless to even squirm away from the intensity as she comes again, and again, and again, each peak barely finishing enough for her to register before every muscle seizes again. The ovipositor pushes more and more eggs inside, vent stretching unbearably as the flow of eggs and fluids becomes near continuous, and she spasms weakly, utterly overloaded by the endless series of climaxes as she lies there, fucked completely insensate.

The room fills with the sound of Hive chattering and a faintly familiar crackling. Abdominal muscles twitching in ecstasy, she feels her womb stretching beyond the limits the venom had dilated it to by the sheer amount of eggs and fluid filling it. Under her hand, she feels her belly expanding, the seams of skin between plates pushing apart, stretching and bulging in a way eliksni certainly aren’t supposed to.

“< _Fuck_ ,>” she says in a garbled whisper. More, more, she needs more, but the pumping of the ovipositor is starting to slow, the realization bringing some relief and even more aroused despair.

Something else slithers through the fog of her thoughts, the impression of something fat and squirming, and a sudden image emerges in her fucked-out mind’s eye - a conglomerate view from her eyes and others, her body spread out on the table, wracked with bliss as the Wizard fills her full, stuffed until she bulges, then pulling out - snaking worms coiling between her thighs, pushing ovipositors through her stretched vent and popping back through her valve - being pumped full and even fuller with symbiote eggs, womb swelling beyond the impossible until her innards are crushed out of the way, body swelling and stretching - hatching inside -

She can’t even scream her next climax, nothing in her but lust and eggs and Hive-cum, only able to jerk uncontrollably with eyes rolled back into her head. More. She needs more. Her body’s never needed anything more than it needs to be pumped full until she bursts, fucked open by that monstrous ovipositor.

The Wizard slows and stops, using her hips as an anchor as it pulls itself out, and she seizes continuously at the feeling of extraction. It drops her hips unceremoniously on the table once the stinger is all the way out, and a gush of mingled cum and eggs spurts out of her overfilled womb, the rim of her vent throbbing.

Vansis lies spreadeagled on the ritual table, a ragged purr humming from her chest as she stares blankly at the ceiling, hips twitching with aftershocks, cum and lube dripping off her, trickling out of her. She is still so, so horny, and her pods drag across her own slightly distended belly, unsatisfied and leaking cum.

The commotion that started up minutes ago only registers now that it’s suddenly stopped and her eyes slide down to look at the rest of the room.

At first, all she sees are the two Hive Knights, but then a glimmer draws her eye downward, and she sees the Titan Given being forced to kneel by their hands on its shoulders. She sees the Given shake its head as if dazed, and thinks: it got caught in the arousal spell, too.

The Knights start dragging the Titan over to her, and it must be really addled if it’s only stumbling along and not punching them. Vansis numbly wonders what they’re planning.

She knows instantly when the Given’s attention falls on her, its gaze almost a tangible, tingling thing, and something in her shrinks away from it, filled with hot shame and fear. Her gaze rakes over it in return: serviceable armor and a banner sigil she doesn’t recognize.

Thralls swarm around it, and Vansis watches, panting in frustrated arousal, as it gets pushed to the edge of the table between her legs. The Wizard floats behind and to the side of it, green eyes watchful.

The Thralls grasp at the armor around its pelvis, and Vansis understands as it feebly fails to bat their hands away. Four tentacle-like pods swirl out once they wrest the codpiece off of it, and she whines at the burst of need that trickles down her spine. Oh, please, _please_ , she wants to beg as it hesitates, before the Wizard shoves it onto the platform and over Vansis.

The delicious, rubbery pods slide over her lube-slicked, tender belly and slide their way into her pore as the Given braces itself over her, hands placed in the spaces between her arms as its attention fixes on her face, masked visage tilted to face hers. Thank fuck its visor is scratched and dulled, she thinks faintly. She doesn’t want to see herself. The thought dissipates completely as the Given’s pods start to move, rippling and spreading her, thrusting in and out in a totally alien way, and oh god it’s so good. She feels its banked strength, the coiled tension as it sinks more of its weight carefully down so its hips are flush with hers.

Its pods rub against the nerves running along the bottom of her pore, and she nearly cries with delight, eyes rolling back again as the movement makes the eggs slosh and press inside her. Orgasm rolls up her spine and her body spasms, lower arms instinctively swinging up to clutch the Given around the waist, neck arching and pods flailing.

The Given lowers itself further, haltingly, and a sense-memory brushes the edges of Vansis’s lust-fogged mind - her shock daggers, her wire rifle, the hum of a well-maintained Skiff’s engine, the whine of an Overcharge Shank, the times before Exile when she’d been on Earth’s surface during a lightning-storm, seeing the wild Arc dancing between the clouds, the way her Wolf crewmates like to build up static electricity and then zap her in the neck and laugh -

Light, it must be the Machine’s Light that lets her blink off just a bit of the arousal. She stares up at the Given, finally able to process how its attention is darting between her and the Wizard behind it - the Wizard that’s drawing up another spell in the air.

 _Idiot_ , she muzzily tells herself, _it’s a sacrifice too_.

Well. Vansis's captain has always said to use whatever tools one has at one’s disposal.

She squeezes its waist gently, then more insistently until it looks at her, pulling its attention away from looking at her discarded helmet and rifle and daggers. Then she glances down, over and over again, as obviously as she can indicate, down at her belt.

It fumbles its hand down without looking, as inconspicuously as it can while being watched by a horde of Thralls. Vansis sees the moment of recognition when it wraps its hand around that last shock grenade, still clipped to her belt.

The way it’s multitasking is actually pretty impressive, considering it’s still fucking her well enough to make waves of building pleasure shiver out through her bones even while it’s clearly failing to figure out how to work the grenade. Finally, it tries to gently and subtly pass the grenade to her, but she can’t tell her arms to move. Glancing behind itself, it shifts its weight to grab her hand and place it over the grenade, and her fingers move to trigger the actuator.

The familiar sound of a grenade priming cuts incongruously through the Hive background noise, which rises from a murmuring chitter to a cacophony of shrieks as the Given abruptly chucks the grenade at the two Knights.

The Hive shriek and Vansis squeezes her eyes shut, unable to even savor what’s probably the last good sensations she’ll ever feel when the Given presses completely flush with her. She wheezes and groans - it’s heavy and its weight makes her womb shift, drives the air from her lungs, sends shudders of pleasure up her spine. It sweeps her arms in to her sides, presses itself close as the Hive close in -

And Vansis’s world is filled with an explosion of Light as the Given slams a fist against the table, Arc Light crackling out from the point of impact. The jolt sends Vansis into a last, overwhelmed climax and she lies there, shuddering, as the Given leaps up, wreathed with lightning - sees it toss pulsing grenades of Light at the hordes of Thralls, one, two - watches it leap into the air and slam its fists down, sending a tremor through the room - sees it sprint at her, righteous Light flaring -

What a fuckin’ way to go, she thinks laconically, before the Given skids to the side of the table and roughly sweeps her up into its arms. Vansis screams in both surprised terror and overstimulation, the movement jolting her every abused nerve, but it hardly heeds her, slowing only enough that she can see it engram and snatch up her fallen equipment in the blink of an eye as it sprints towards an exit. She’s still, impossibly, horny, and it almost makes her want to laugh. Hysterically.

“<Knight->” she rasps, then remembers the Given don’t all speak Eliksni, but the Given has already turned its shoulders to charge the hapless Knight out of the way.

With every divine stride away from the ritual room, Vansis feels the arousal spell start to ebb. Her mind is mostly blank, unable to decide what to think, and her body cries out in confused enjoyment and protest at every bump.

The Given holds her in its arms with one hand around her back, and one under her knees. She rests the side of her head just inside of its massive pauldron.

Vansis is so tired.

**Author's Note:**

> I also subscribe to the headcanon that Exos can freely swap out genitalia mods. And also that sometimes those mods can get pretty novel. Exo lady Striker here just really likes tentacles, sue her!
> 
> (It's her bad that she forgot to swap out her fancy, for-special-occasions quadruple-dick mod before she went patrolling on Titan. Shame on you, Bunny.)
> 
> If I have missed or mislabeled any tags, please let me know!
> 
> I can be found on [Dreamwidth](https://schnikeys.dreamwidth.org/) and [Tumblr](https://schniggles.tumblr.com/)!


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